Of Death
by MaraudersWolf
Summary: There is one dark night each month for Remus, bringing the darkest of thoughts with it. What happens when those dark thoughts now include the unthinkable actions of one Potions Master. RLSS, no slash. Warnings inside. Set post-HBP/pre-DH.


**Summary: **There is one dark night each month for Remus, bringing the darkest of thoughts with it. Set post-HBP/pre-DH.  
**Disclaimer:** I'm just playing in the universe JKR has created. She has it all.  
**Warnings:** character deaths mentioned (not Snape or Lupin), alcohol-drinking and thoughts of suicide  
**Notes:** Many, many thanks are needed: to _snegurochkalee_for the great quote to work with; to M_araudersAffair_ for her constant reassurance when I wanted to give up and beta work; and to all the chat people who kept me from pounding my head into the closest brick wall (the fireplace next to the computer) when the characters didn't want to cooperate!

**AN:** The was originally written for the Lupin-Snape LJ community's Darkfic Fest '07 using quote #3. _Death? Why this fuss about death. Use your imagination, try to visualize a world without death! ... Death is the essential condition of life, not an evil._ – Charlotte Perkins Gilman

* * *

Death was inevitable. It began with the dawn of time. It was happening now. It will happen until the end of time. 

Remus downed his firewhiskey, suppressing his grimace at the slow burn it created. The firelight danced in the glaze covering his hazel eyes, the only break in the darkness. The crackling of the firewood was the only noise to break the silence. The chair was comfortable, years of use having molded it to his scarred body.

On nights like this, when the moon disappeared from view, his mind wandered too easily into dangerous territory. His eyes fall to his wand on the table next to him, right by the half-empty bottle of whiskey. A simple cutting charm in the right spot would end the misery that no one saw.

"So many have died," his voice whispered as images danced in the flames.

_James._ A true friend and a brother in his heart, dying for his family.

_Lily._ The sister he never had while growing up, dying for her son.

He refilled his glass, glancing at his wand as he set the bottle next to it. Blood would run freely – nothing would stop it. A river of red would free the black thoughts of his mind.

_Peter._ The rat was still out there, but the man he knew had died long ago.

_Sirius._ What Azkaban did not take away, the veil did.

Assigning blame meant nothing. Death didn't need logic or a reason. That was for the mind; the attempt to rationalize an irrational action.

A war was raging again. The battles of war meant many more would die. Casualties were an inevitable part of the destruction. To win the war meant there would be losses of person and property to everyone.

_Dumbledore._ The man who became a revered figure in his life. The man to whom he owed much more than allegiance to. That night, his world collapsed into a dark, bottomless pit and he fell with it.

"Why?" he whispered, knowing there wasn't an answer he would like. Death was a part of the world. A "circle of life," some called it. Entropy, others said. There was no world without death. Some died young, some died old, but everyone died.

The flames flickered, faces upon faces blending into each other. Memories became like ghosts, haunting his every moment. Downing the contents of the glass in two gulps chased all but one away.

_Severus._

He gasped, the sudden construction of his chest forcing the air out of his lungs. The sound of blood rushing filled his ears while the firelight burned a soft glow in his eyes. The man was out there, somewhere, alive, while he sat here, pain coursing through him and enlarging the hole in his soul.

"Severus," he whispered, "how?" A shaking hand paused over the wand, but grabbed the bottle instead, refilling the glass in his other hand. After returning the bottle to its spot on the table, he leaned forward, letting his elbows rest on his thighs as both hands cradled the glass of fiery liquid. "How could you?" he whispered to the fire. "Where did you find that evil in yourself? Why did you bring about the death of a great wizard? Hasn't there been enough death? Hasn't our world suffered enough?" He gulped his drink, then began turning the glass over in his hands.

He sucked in a breath, fighting back the tears threatening to break the dam holding himself together. "Haven't I?" he whispered and then stood up. "Haven't I!" he shouted, throwing the glass against the fireplace, watching the shards land in front of him. "Damn you, Severus!"

_Sectumsempra_ would end it all for him. He had seen that effect only once, but it was enough. He knew the power it held. His hand shook while passing over his wand, then firmly grabbed the bottle and took a swig.

Memories danced in his mind, each punctuated with a drink of firewhiskey. A smiling Severus covered in spaghetti from an impromptu food fight. A laughing Severus, being tickled until tears rolled off his face. A smirking Severus, realizing he will win the game of wizard chess. A Severus with a twinkle to his eyes that only he saw, a twinkle meant only for him. Memories that once brought happiness now only brought pain.

Pain. He knew that well – better than anyone else, he allowed himself to admit. Pain was found in many forms, not just the real pain that most knew. He knew that pain – the physical reaction of the body when it is hurt - intimately, experiencing it with every full moon.

There was more, though – pain that people choose not to see. There was pain in his mind, the ache of memories that fade with time. It was wondering what might have been, what could have been and what should have been.

There was pain in his soul, the very heart of his being. It was from love gained and lost; from words carelessly said and words left unsaid; from actions and inactions against others.

So much. Too much. Nothing dulled the pain – not time, not firewhiskey and definitely not words. Pain left only with death.

A piece of him wanted to die. A piece of him wanted to end the pain. His eyes found his wand, the empty bottle falling to the floor as he grabbed it. His right hand held the wand, fingers wrapped tightly around the ebony wood core. The fingers of his left hand ghosted over the 12-inch length, rubbing its smooth texture and rounded tip. Both hands felt the vibration of magic from the dragon heartstring core.

Yes, there was a way to end it all. The pain. The agony. The misery. There always was a way.

* * *

In a shadowed corner, a man silently emerged and stopped to stand over the crumpled figure on the floor. Soft light accentuated the haggard features in his sallow skin. His dark eyes fixed their gaze on the figure, broken only by quick blinks of eyelids. The sounds of his even breathing and beating heart broke the silence that not even the dying embers of the fire could penetrate.

"Remus," he whispered, seeing the man in a heap on the floor. There was no response. "Remus," he stated, his voice even. Still no response. "Dammit, Lupin!" he shouted.

A soft grunt was the reply from the bundle. Severus snorted. "Such stupid Gryffindor nobility. You let death drown you rather than face it. When will you realize you are better than that? When will you rise above it? When will you realize it is essential to life?"

"Why?" a raspy voice muttered. "What good will it do?" Remus said. "It will just keep coming. I don't need you to tell me that. Go away, Severus."

Severus stared at the broken man, his voice a whisper. "Then, it appears there is nothing more I can say or do to change your mind. You must do that yourself."

"Get out!" Remus roared, rising from the floor. "Take your murderous, loathing self out of here!" Their gazes met as Severus reached out for the wand being brandished at him, but Remus backed up, out of reach. "Go! You've done enough!"

Severus left, not a word escaping his lips.

Silently, Remus broke down. Tears fell fast and freely, great sobs shuddering through his body. _No more, please_ he thought. His wand fell to the floor as his hands covered his face, the clatter of wood hitting stone echoing in the darkness.

Yet, he knew there would be more. It was a war. Death was inevitable.

* * *

_AN: Reviews are a wonderful way to warm this writer while the winds are howling outside!_


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